Mudblood, Pureblood
by SquareEyed
Summary: Mudblood, Pureblood, it was all red when spilt. During sixth year, Draco Malfoy had stopped trying to tell the difference. He had bigger problems, which got even bigger when Hermione Granger started to notice.
1. Mudblood

She wasn't imagining it.

The lesson had only lasted twenty minutes, the class in a stoic rhythm of the frantic scratching of thirty or so quills (which was common with Professor Snape's lessons, even if he was now doing Defence Against the Dark Arts). Any disruptions were the occasional sniffle, as with November came a new virus; they'd already been snapped at to get a pepper-up from Madam Pomfrey as soon as they would leave his class.

Professor Snape in fact was in a particularly foul mood today. For once they weren't doing a practical lesson; in addition, they were redoing their theory homework on nonverbal spells, of which was very unlike the previous potions professor considering he despised a waste of time. Perhaps his darker mood could explain his extra vindictiveness. Even the Slytherins, his favoured students, were suffering his wrath. Which was exactly why Hermione was sharing the same desk as Draco Malfoy.

The pale-faced boy had made as much distance between himself and her as he could seemingly achieve. Apart from a brief sneer, and a miraculously uncolorful, "You smell awful, Mudblood," he had kept his focus on taking his books, parchment and quill out of his bag even after several Slytherins sniggered and Ron had yelled an insult at him from across the room.

That had been at the beginning of the lesson. Now not even the Slytherins were daring to so much as whisper and Ron was still standing outside of the classroom with fifty deducted points from Gryffindor hanging over his head. Professor Snape was swooping over their desks like a vulture scanning for carcasses to rip apart. Hermione had begun to grow accustomed to the situation, until she noticed a pattern.

At first, she thought it must have been a result of paranoia, considering Malfoy's oddly tame reaction to having to sit even a foot away from her. Then, as she paid more attention to her peripheral vision, she realized he was doing it quite frequently. Looking at her, that was. Not glances, either, but full-blown stares, that lasted so long Hermione could practically feel them burning the right side of her face.

Malfoy was notorious for his Death Eater heritage, blood prejudices and bullying. The fact that she was the subject of his scrutinization wasn't a good sign at all. A slightly hysterical part of Hermione considered that Harry's theory that he was now a Death Eater himself could be true. No, that was ridiculous. It's Malfoy, for god's sake! He was probably just embarrassed that he couldn't come up with a good enough jeer and was searching for ideas. Before she could charge that first train of thought out of control, Hermione decided she should actually take in what she was writing.

_To cast a spell verbally itself is a disadvantage; not only when the caster needs to remain undetected, but also when they need to produce their desired effects quickly and precisely – _

There. Again. He was looking _again_. Hermione's hand paused, the quill's tip still resting on the parchment. Adorning an expression of contemplation, she waited a few seconds before she stole a glance at him. For a mere moment, she swore she'd caught an expression on Malfoy that didn't resemble him sucking a lemon. On the contrary, he looked… well, she wasn't sure. His eyebrows had been furrowed and his jaw clenched. Then he visibly stiffened before his usual contemptuous sneer was back in place, in which his poor parchment had to deal with when he looked back down.

Returning to her work, Hermione untangled her thoughts from Malfoy's weird behaviour. Whatever the reason was, she'd tell Harry and Ron about it after class. Actually, on second thought, she'd just tell Ron – the last thing Harry needed was fuel to his Death Eater theory. If he so much as suspected Malfoy was out to kill her (and considering even _she_ had gone along that thought process, albeit in a brief moment of paranoia, it wasn't far-fetched at all that Harry would do the same), he would probably do something very stupid.

When she saw Blaise Zabini's parchment almost full in front of her, a flare of irritation erupted inside her. Promptly, she scolded herself for allowing Malfoy of all people to distract her from her schoolwork. Pushing everything that wasn't nonverbal spells out of her mind, Hermione rolled her wrist a few times.

Then she dove back into the essay.

.o.o.

He didn't like being wrong.

Every so often, the rhythm of the thirty or so quills were overlapped with one of her breathy sighs. Not loud enough for Snape to swoop upon her and shut her up, but enough for Draco to hear. Each time that little huff escaped her lips, he gripped his quill tighter.

Merlin only knew he wanted to whip his wand out and curse her to the next century.

Of course, he couldn't do that. What made the Malfoys far more superior to most of Wizarding Britain was their diplomacy, etiquette and grace. Impulsive violence was much more a Weasley thing.

Well, that, and he'd get into trouble. Snape couldn't defend him for everything, certainly not once McGonagall or Dumbledore got involved and especially not now when he'd already so recently gotten himself into trouble.

Instead Draco was left to stew over why the old bat had made him sit with the Mudblood in the first place. Clearly, he was in a bad mood and Draco had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with him getting caught by McGonagall the other night. Of course, she wouldn't believe whatever excuse he would come up with so he didn't waste his breath. A week's worth of detentions and McGonagall pestering Snape – that had to be the reason. Draco was fine as his quest in the Room of Requirement had remained undiscovered, but Snape obviously didn't share his sediment.

Despite him still writing, and pondering, he found his mind wandering over to those irritable sighs. This is when he discovered he was wrong about several things.

Firstly, she didn't smell. Badly, that is. On the contrary he was getting an overpowering whiff of roses. Normally Draco didn't enjoy the combination of girls and perfume. Sitting next to Pansy Parkinson, for example, was the equivalent to subjecting oneself to suffocation. This perfume, and this... girl, however, reminded him of soaring along his Manor's vast rose dotted hedgerows on his broom during a hot summer's day, when the pollen was strongest.

Secondly, she acted more civil than Weasley, who was Pureblood regardless of the Blood Traitor filth addling his family's brains. For the past couple years, any form of disdain he threw her way was met with cool indifference or complete ignorance. It was frustrating but a betraying hiss at the back of his mind – one that had been growing louder and louder as time passed by – quite admired it.

The most significant realisation was that he couldn't imagine her lifeless.

At one point he found he'd abandoned his essay and was instead drinking her in. Trying to imagine those eyes without an intuitive glimmer. That infernal bush of hair limp as a dead cat. Her voice drowned in death; her distant laugh an echo, because he couldn't catch it from the far end of the classroom anymore.

The Dark Lord believed her kind should be wiped out. His parents agreed.

For his entire life, Draco had wanted nothing but to please those superior to him. That meant his father, powerful wizarding figures, and now the Dark Lord. So why was he struggling at such a simple concept as killing animals?

Draco watched her delectable fingers curved over the quill. Suddenly, it stopped. His eyes moved to the side of her face. Her pink bottom lip was trapped under her teeth, indenting it. Abruptly, her head turned in his direction. Feeling his heart stop for a moment, Draco raised the nastiest expression that he could before staring down at his parchment.

No, she didn't smell. Maybe she was an anomaly.

She wasn't an animal. But what about the hovel she came from?

The image of her corpse daunted him. Yet his father had stood on piles of those and that had never bothered him before.

Death was so permanent. Draco had never really acknowledged it until just this year, when his grandfather had died. He was still coming to terms with the fact that the old man wouldn't be visiting anymore. As a concept, it was hard to grasp.

So was his task: he'd kill Dumbledore, then the Dark Lord would have full power, then there would be deaths everywhere including people he shouldn't bat an eye over.

Like Granger herself.

Without turning his head, he moved his eyes in her direction once more. In his peripheral vision, her hand was flying across her parchment, her face so close to it that her nose was almost brushing it. There were freckles on her nose. Had she always had freckles? His eyes moved down to her lips, which were pressed tightly together.

Until.

A sigh left them again.

Watching its progress, Draco wasn't irritated. He felt ill. Imagining her taking her last breath. Jaw slack. Lifeless.

Slowly, he dragged his stare back to his half-hearted essay.

His palms were clammy.

Her sighs wouldn't stop.

Draco shoved himself upwards, his chair making a deafening scrape across the stone floor. Ignoring all the faces turned towards him (although he wished she would stop looking), he swept his parchment, quills and ink bottles into his bag.

"Draco?" Snape's silky voice queried from across the room. It was a warning. He sneered, looking upwards to face his godfather. Snape was hovering over Potter, who was eyeing Draco suspiciously. He needed a plausible excuse and they both knew it. Dumbledore's pet wasn't the only one who'd noticed there was something strange about Draco. There were theories circulated around him, from both houses.

"You're making me sit next to a Mudblood and expect me not to get ill?" There was an uproar from the predictable Gryffindors, drowning the laughter and approving noises of his own housemates. One reason Gryffindors lacked cunning was because they allowed their emotions to completely blind them from the circumstances they were under.

"Piss off—"

Snape was their circumstance.

"–not like she'd like to si—"

Provoking him in his current mood…

"—ucking Malfoys—"

Was like firing spells at a slumbering dragon.

"—_eath Eater bigot_—"

"_Silence_!" Snape snarled.

Nobody listened.

In fact, it got louder – and their anger was now instead directed on Snape himself. Idiots.

"We get fifty point removed—"

"—gonna let this sonofabitch go scotch free!"

Draco took his opportunity.

Shoving himself through the crowd of hollering imbeciles, he slipped out of the classroom.

* * *

_Got a whole lot of assignments due so naturally I start writing fic. _


	2. Unseen

_This is a terrible idea Hermione. A terrible, terrible idea. _

Of course, her logical stream of thought had little input whenever Harry was involved. The minute she saw her best friend weave through her angry housemates and out the classroom, she knew he was going to get himself into trouble. So she also made her way out, knowing that she wasn't the only one who'd seen Malfoy make a swift exit.

Now she was with Harry under his invisibility cloak, who had also managed to pull Ron (who'd still been waiting outside the classroom) into his newest vendetta against Malfoy. Harry was positively convinced that the pale Slytherin was up to something. Ron was still doubtful, but he was joining her other friend nonetheless. Hermione was sure he was just being his usual dramatic self… even though she was aware, like most people in their year, that Malfoy was not exactly being his 'usual' self. Regardless of what was going on with that boy, she didn't want any part of it – and she certainly didn't want her two best friends entangled in it, neither.

"Harry, think about it. If Malfoy was a Death Eater, he'd be conspicuous about it, especially with Dumbledore around," she hissed, as the trio started gradually ascending the grand staircase from the third floor. They could already see Malfoy striding up the fourth floor.

"Have you seen him Hermione? If he's not a Death Eater, he's doing _something_ with Dark Magic. Do you really believe his 'ill because of dirty blood crap'?"

"He's prejudiced, yes. That's the reason he left the classroom – he's pissed at Snape for not treating him better for once!"

"He's been acting weird since school started!"

"Well, his dad is in Azkaban after all. Bad person or not, he's still human."

"Why the hell are you defending him?" Ron whispered incredulously.

"I'm not!" she responded hotly. "But this is ridiculous. You-Know-Who's not exactly going to go around wasting his time recruiting underage wizards!"

"He's up to something," Harry stated firmly, and with that classic stubborn tone Hermione knew she had no hope of convincing him otherwise.

The rest of their journey stalking Malfoy was spent in silence, which meant Hermione was left victim to her relentless thoughts.

They were out of class without the teacher's permission. They were bound to get into a lot of trouble. Professor Snape's least favourite student being missing from the classroom was not going to go unnoticed. It didn't help that Harry was very clear for his suspicion for his most favourite student

That meant McGonagall would get involved. The head of Gryffindor was already aware of Harry's suspicions about Malfoy; her best friend had accused the other boy of causing the attack on Katie Bell in Hogsmeade. Despite the fact that it had been proven the Slytherin had not been in Hogsmeade at the time, Harry was still convinced his rival was involved somehow.

Essentially, what it meant was even more trouble for Harry.

Sometimes he was so irritatingly stubborn.

Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater? It was ridiculous. Though, he'd been staring at her all lesson like he was a starving animal and she was food…

_Stop_. Unbelievable. She had never been more disappointed in herself. Harry's paranoia was rubbing off on her. So were her friends' arms – this cloak had really gotten small for the three of them.

Suddenly, they halted. Seventh floor, if she wasn't mistaken. She'd been quite preoccupied with her racing thoughts. Oh, it was seventh floor alright: the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was draped innocently against the wall of a familiar corridor, beside where their feet were planted. They were in front of the Room of Requirement.

All that they were looking at was a blank wall.

"He's not here, Harry." It was a feeble attempt she knew wouldn't work.

Ignoring her, he slipped out of the cloak, dodging her frantic hand trying to keep him under it.

"I need to find Malfoy," he murmured, pacing one, two, three times. With bated breath, Hermione hoped that nothing would happen. Ron muttered a profanity when her hope was dismissed.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry grabbed the door handle.

"_Potter_!"

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, gripping a shell-shocked Ron.

"Bloody hell…" he breathed, just as an equally surprised Harry was approached by a very murderous-looking Professor Snape.

.o.o.

Draco wasn't sure what he was doing in here.

Progressing in his task would've been useful. Except, he wasn't in the mood for that. The fabricated image of Granger lying in a pool of her dirty blood was still ingrained in his mind's eye and as a result his stomach was roiling. The room sensed that: instead of the usual stacks of shelves piled with forgotten objects, it had morphed into his bedroom back in Malfoy Manor.

He sprawled onto his large bed, exhaling shakily.

His room was the one place he could truly be, well, himself. Nobody was there to judge him. Nobody was there for him to impress. Nobody was there for him to disappoint. In that bedroom, he could indulge in the things he enjoyed. Quidditch. Books. More, uh, illicit activities. Things that most wizards and witches got the privilege of having without simultaneously worrying about tarnishing their reputation. That was what truly ruled out Pureblood families from Blood Traitor ones or muggle ones. Sacred houses such as the Malfoys had a bloodline to represent. They had no business being ordinary.

Cultured, perhaps. But, for example, his father's idea of supporting a Quidditch team was to sit and clap politely when they scored. "Animalistic behaviour is not the Malfoy way," he would tell Draco. It was quite unfair, to say the least, that he couldn't be openly excited about his favourite team winning. That was just one of his many duties to his name.

He supposed now, he couldn't even be an ordinary student. People either saw him as a nutter or a murderer or the Dark Lord's non-accidental 'Chosen One' or perhaps all at once. Of course, none of it was proven but their speculation wasn't exactly far from the truth. The pressure of staying hidden, of successfully carrying out and completing his task was really taking a toll on his health.

What made it all worse was Granger. Damn Granger. Why did she have to exist? How much easier this all would've been if she'd remained in that place which she called home, infested with muggles. If she'd just been another one of those faceless creatures that would be insignificant to him.

The fact of the matter was, she wasn't. She was very much a witch, as her capability with magic demonstrated. In fact, she was more able than many Purebloods, such as Weasley. Not that he would ever admit it, but he found her abilities fascinating. Most of his housemates, boys and girls alike, were incapable of having an intellectual conversation, like Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise Zabini was the closest he could get to when it came to not boring or frustrating him. As she spent most of her time around Saint Potter and Weaslebee, he could tell her intelligence wasn't given justice, either. He briefly wondered what it would be like talking civilly to Granger.

From imagining her corpse to imagining a conversation with her. Maybe he really was a nutter.

The door burst open.

Draco whipped his head towards it, only to sneer. The old bat just wouldn't leave him alone.

"What were you thinking?" snapped Snape. He slammed the door closed behind him. Draco swore he saw a flutter of something just behind Snape's feet. When he blinked, however, it was gone. Snape's next words made him completely forget about it: "are you an idiot?"

"How d'you think my father would react if I told him you made me sit next to a Mudblood?"

"I would say he has little power to do anything considering he's in Azkaban," replied the damned fool.

"My father has the dignity to show where his loyalty lies!" he growled, getting to his feet, fists clenched.

"His dignity is not useful to the Dark Lord." Snarling, Draco swiftly drew out his wand only to have it disarmed, where it hurtled to the other end of his fake bedroom.

"How _dare_ –"

"Potter was right outside this room," said Snape silkily, black eyes glittering. For a moment his anger deflated, only to re-erupt.

"Potter can't just mind his _own damn business_!" he screamed, kicking his bed in the process. If his father had seen him in this moment… "And you just let him _leave_?"

"Leaving my disrupted classroom to chase after Potter and you – that wouldn't look suspicious at all," his godfather sneered. "Gryffindor no longer has any house points," Draco, despite everything, smirked at this, "and the only Prefect available in the classroom was Pansy Parkinson, who is now watching my classroom while I excused myself."

Wait. That meant –

"Granger? And Weasley was still outside the class –"

"Not when I left. Potter, Weasley and Granger. It's not hard to put two and two together." The focus on her made his nausea return. "Except, only Potter was trying to get into this room. He claims that the other two were trying to stop him from following you, and when he wouldn't listen, they went to get help."

"From who?" Draco asked, already knowing the answer.

"_McGonagall_," Snape hissed, his patience clearly worn thin. "How many times before it becomes hard to ignore, Draco?"

"Stop getting involved! Just because the Dark Lord didn't give _you_ this opportunity –"

"You silly boy!" Snape advanced towards him, looking outraged. "I made the Unbreakable Vow with your mother to protect you!"

"I don't need your protection!" he snapped, sidestepping him and stalking towards the door. Incredulously, he contemplated how even his own mother had no faith in his success. He wanted his wand back and the room provided it to him, the familiar piece of wood speeding into his waiting palm. From behind him, he heard a faint scoff.

"You're afraid, Draco."

He froze.

Yes. He was. But nobody could know that.

Grabbing the door handle, he yanked it open and left his godfather behind.

* * *

_This fic is partially loyal to the books and partially loyal to the movies, so it's a bit of a mix-up haha. _


	3. Seen

The gargoyle regarded the apprehensive duo.

With the invisibility cloak clutched in her fist, Hermione took her attention away from the gargoyle to face Ron. Her friend shook his head in disbelief for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Harry was right."

"Snape didn't say he was a Death Eater," she reminded him.

"Good as one," Ron muttered darkly. "Whatever the '_Dark Lord's task_' was, it sure as hell had something to do with Katie Bell." Hermione had contemplated the same thing when she and Ron emerged from the Room of Requirement, on the heels of their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. "And Snape definitely _is_ still a Death Eater."

"He's a spy." Hermione nibbled her lip, turning back to the gargoyle. "Did Harry ever say what Dumbledore's password is?" Their friend had been having sessions with the Headmaster all term, in preparation for facing the very wizard Draco Malfoy was carrying out an errand for.

"I don't reckon so."

"They always change anyway but it would've been worth a try."

"Maybe we should just find Harry and tell him, he might have the newest password."

"No," Hermione said firmly, ignoring Ron's incredulous expression in her peripheral vision. It hadn't been the first time he'd suggested it, nor the first time she'd declined it.

"He was _right_, Hermione!"

"I know!" she insisted.

"If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have even found out!"

"I _know_!"

"You just don't like the fact that you're wrong for once!" he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. At this, Hermione snapped, rounding on Ron and jabbing him in the chest with her own finger.

"In case you've forgotten, _Ronald_, I was right about the Ministry last year and Harry still went… and look what happened to Sirius because of it!"

"Bravo Hermione!" he responded sarcastically. Tears pricked the back of Hermione's eyes; it was always more frustrating to her when Ron dismissed her opinions than when Harry did.

"Harry doesn't take some time to think, is my point," she gritted out, gripping the cloak so tightly her knuckles were white. "He'll end up doing something stupid, like fight Malfoy!"

"Fine, don't believe in him."

"I didn't say that!"

"Yeah, you did."

"No –"

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley," interrupted a familiar, calm voice. The pair swivelled around to face none other than Albus Dumbledore, who was wearing a set of indigo robes with a matching pointy hat. Hermione glanced at his blackened hand before she met his gaze from behind the half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. "You must have been looking for me."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, before Ron could open his mouth. "It's urgent." His lips twitched behind his silver beard, before he nodded.

"Very well. Ice Mice." Hermione turned back towards the entrance of his office to see the gargoyle leap aside, revealing a spiralling staircase. "After you," Dumbledore said with courtesy, and so she and Ron ascended up his staircase to his office.

Once they reached it, Hermione was momentarily struck with the many strange, whirring objects cluttered on different surfaces in the circular office. She made a mental note to read up more on magical objects. The walls were caked with dozing portraits, of which she knew were previous Headmasters (some she recognised from their portraits in _Hogwarts, A History_). There was an empty perch she presumed belonged to the phoenix Harry had told her about. Next to it was a desk, of which Dumbledore sat behind.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured towards the armchairs in front of his desk. Avoiding eye contact with Ron, Hermione did as Dumbledore asked, placing the invisibility cloak beside her. "Sherbet lemon?" She passed, rolling her eyes when her seated companion grabbed a handful of them.

"Sorry to bother you, professor," she started.

"No, not at all." Dumbledore smiled serenely.

"Long story short, we followed Draco Malfoy to the Room of Requirement." Dumbledore's eyebrows raised.

"I presume it was not out of amiable intentions."

"No, sir. See, we –"

"'arry," Ron corrected, mouth half full of sherbet lemons.

"You didn't let me finish the sentence," she said curtly, throwing him a filthy look. Ron swallowed heavily, not paying her any mind.

"Harry thought Draco Malfoy was doing something dodgy. Turns out he was right. He's working for You-Know-Who."

Silence followed. Hermione noticed that the snoring of the portraits had ceased, meaning that they been feigning their sleep the whole time. She observed one the past Headmasters sneak a peek at the scene below him.

"May I ask how you came to this conclusion?" Dumbledore finally asked. He seemed oddly unfazed by this information.

"Snape –"

"Professor," the Headmaster corrected him.

"Yeah," Ron scoffed a little. "He caught Harry outside the room. Gave him two week's worth of detentions for leaving class without his permission, even though Malfoy did as well. I was under Harry's invisibility cloak with Hermione. We followed Snape –"

"Professor Snape."

"What does it matter, anyway? He's an active Death Eater," Ron said savagely.

More silence followed.

"I'm assuming the pair of you overheard a conversation between Professor Snape and young Mr Malfoy in the Room of Requirement." Dumbledore's normal and blackened fingertips were now pressed against each other as he scrutinized his nodding students. He sighed. "Then I shall request that you keep this a secret."

"_What_?" Ron was on his feet, incredulous. Hermione herself was perplexed by the Headmaster's response. Trying to get her friend to sit down by gripping his arm, she huffed when he shook her hand off.

"May I ask why, professor?" He gave her a sad smile.

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger, that is information I cannot expound upon you. All I can say is that I am aware that Professor Snape is still taking orders from Voldemort–" the duo flinched "–and that Mr Malfoy is also doing the same."

"So what are you doing about it?"

"Like I said, Mr Weasley, that is information I cannot give to you." Visibly frustrated, Ron threw his hands in the air.

"Two bloody Death Eaters in the school and you want us to keep it a secret?"

"Was it said at any point during the conversation that Mr Malfoy was a Death Eater?"

"No, but –"

"Then leave benefit for doubt, Mr Weasley." Hermione couldn't help but feel a little smug. Though she was careful not to show it considering he was going redder by the minute and she wasn't sure she had the capacity to deal with a ticked off Ron.

"I don't think I'll be able to be around either of them!" Ron declared, fuming.

"There is a muggle saying that I am quite fond of," Dumbledore said calmly, oblivious to Ron's indignantly bewildered expression. Curiously, Hermione regarded her Headmaster; there was a slight twinkle in his eyes. "Don't judge a book by its cover."

.o.o.

In an attempt to draw as little attention to himself as possible, especially after today, Draco decided he should start attending everyday student activities again. That was why he made an appearance during dinner, which he felt might be a mistake but he did so anyway. Roughly an hour after he left the Room of Requirement (of which he spent in his dormitory), the last period of the day had ended, where students began their migration to the Great Hall. Reluctantly, Draco had followed suit.

Now he was on the Slytherin table, back deliberately turned to the rest of the school. This is because he knew that she was at the other end of the hall. Probably sitting, as per usual, with Saint nosey Potter and Weaselbee. Undoubtedly scarhead would be creating some conspiracy about the room he never got to walk in. Weaslebee would be nodding along like the tamed dog that he was. Granger… she'd be scrutinizing him. Calculating him. Her quick mind would be putting pieces together. That was the only reason he was worried about Potter's attention.

"Draco, are you listening?" Pansy's shrill voice from across the table pulled him out of his preoccupation.

"No," Draco replied matter-of-factly. Theodore Nott, who was sitting beside him, choked on the pumpkin juice he was drinking, managing to pass it off as a violent cough when Pansy glared at him. Then, (_dear Merlin no_), she turned her attention back to Draco.

"What's going on with you today?" she asked, looking at her fingernails as if she didn't care. Though she could sever his last nerve often, he did appreciate her underlying concern from time to time. Unfortunately, right now was not one of those times.

"Just ill."

"It's really not fair Snape made you sit with that horrid Mudblood." She wrinkled her nose, just as Theo scooped potatoes from the bowl in front of her and piled them onto his plate.

"She's quite a looker for a Mudblood," Theo stated, snickering when Pansy shot him another nasty look. "For someone who doesn't play any Quidditch she's got a killer figure –"

"Enough, Theodore!" Pansy snapped, cheeks reddening. "Now _I_ feel sick." Draco agreed with her, albeit for completely different reasons. Somehow the small amount of food on his plate looked less appetizing than before. Poking at it with his fork, he willed Theo to stop laughing.

"Speaking of Granger," said Blaise Zabini, who was seated next to Pansy and had been quietly listening to the entire exchange until now, "she's looking in this direction." Draco's stomach dropped. His fork clattered to his plate. Theo had turned around to stare whilst Pansy glowered at the Gryffindor table. Blaise, however, was watching Draco. Palms sweating, he stared back down at his plate. A few seconds later he found he couldn't stop himself.

Rotating to look at her was confirmation that he would not be eating tonight.

Like he'd predicted, she was observing him. Her lips were trapped under her teeth, which he remembered once used to be abnormally large. With furrowed eyebrows, her stare darted between himself and his housemates. Potter was beside her; his eyes were narrowed and he bent close to her to whisper something in her ear. Draco found himself scowling.

When she shook her head, leaving Potter with a slightly irritable expression, he craved to know what had been said.

Around her, Gryffindors were starting to notice the staring Slytherins. Anger started buzzing through her housemates, as it was, in their opinion, due to him that they had lost all their house points.

"Bloody Malfoy!" bellowed one of the Weasley's hoard of children over the general chatter of the hall. At this, their table erupted into cheers. Every single one of them, hurling profanities and jeers his way. All except for her.

Even from here he could see her sigh. The sound of it still echoed in his mind from Snape's lesson.

"Where are you going, Draco?" Pansy asked, as some Slytherins started jeering back and professor McGonagall left her seat at the High Table to scold her house. From the corner of his eye he could see Blaise studying him.

"I've lost my appetite."


	4. Liability

"I'm going after him." It was a miracle she heard it from all the cheering and jeering… honestly, she felt that she'd just read his lips and imagined hearing his voice saying the words.

Hermione pretty much pounced on Harry, tightly grabbing his arm before he could even stand from his seat. As he futilely tried to shake her off, she watched Professor McGonagall severely attempt to discipline Fred and George Weasley, who were dancing on the table while roaring "Malfoy is a wanker!" and occupying the attention of the vast majority of the hall.

"Hermione, let go!" he bellowed.

"Snape's watching!" At this, Harry stopped struggling as he went rigid; his eyes narrowed angrily. Before he could turn around to the high table, Hermione yanked his arm. Snape wasn't exactly watching them – in fact, like pretty much everyone else, he was watching the twins dance with an expression mixed with contempt and disgust. "Don't draw his attention more."

"What?" he shouted. Feeling the beginning of a headache from all the noise, and from Ron being infuriating earlier, and from Harry being annoying now, Hermione groaned.

"Oh, never mind!"

"Malfoy's –"

"Just stop your bloody obsession with Malfoy!" she snapped, letting go of his arm and shoving it away. He looked at her incredulously. From Harry's other side, Ron (who had been quietly brooding over his food all dinner, not even looking up at the current fiasco that his brothers were stirring up), turned and raised his eyebrows at her.

In order to ignore both of them, she looked past their faces and swept her gaze across the High Table. Snape was still watching the twins. Abruptly, the professor made eye contact with her.

She was rooted on her seat, yet somehow she felt a swooping sensation, like what her body felt whenever she was about to fall asleep. The thought to avert her stare wouldn't even cross her mind. _Keep him out of trouble. Don't tell him what you know. Don't involve Potter. _Then, she wasn't effectively in a trance anymore as Snape broke his eye contact, turning his attention to the Slytherin table.

So Dumbledore had told him. Or he'd read her mind – she remembered when Harry was assigned occlumency lessons with the Head of Slytherin House, because the man was a skilled occlumens. More likely, Dumbledore was obviously aware of his abilities and had told him for this very reason. Well, Snape's punishment for her eavesdropping clearly was to become involved in something in which she wasn't allowed any details on. Fantastic.

Not even knowing how she was supposed to find the rogue Slytherin, Hermione pushed herself off her seat.

"What're you doing?" Harry demanded. It wasn't difficult to make an excuse, especially since she was still feeling the urge to whack him.

"It's loud, I'm tired, and I can't be bothered to hear any more stupid theories!" With that, she whipped around and stormed out of the hall, towards the grand staircase.

It was lit with flickering candles; she brushed a fingertip against one to let the melted wax caress her finger. Behind, the ruckus in the Great Hall had died down considerably, which suggested that Professor McGonagalll was finally successful in stopping Fred and George. As she watched the wax dry on her finger, she supposed that her first stop would be to the Room of Requirement. She started her journey up the staircase.

"Find Malfoy," she muttered, scoffing. "Not like I've got a life. Nah, I have a babysitting job." But then again she supposed that's what Harry was. Now she had two liabilities, apparently.

Making it to the first floor, she paused. If she was really going to have to camp outside of the Room of Requirement, she'd need something to keep her entertained. All of the books in her dormitory had been finished and she was due to return them. Madam Pince always allowed her to borrow extra, however, because she was the only student she trusted. So Hermione strode purposefully into the library.

Gliding through the shelves with her fingers hovering over the volumes and her eyes scanning the titles, she felt content for the first time that day. Back in primary school, her only friends had been books. They gave her knowledge, they gave her comfort, they gave her joy. And they most certainly didn't give her stress.

"Oh!" She had rounded a corner, expecting to see another empty aisle. Instead, she was greeted by the very wizard she was looking for, gripping a book whilst he stared at her owlishly. It was almost comical, really.

.o.o.

Going back to the Room of Requirement would be a terrible idea considering how the whole of Gryffindor wanted blood and Potter had surely announced his discovery at some point, or would do soon. From now on his trips to the room to carry out his errand would be after curfew, when he only had to worry about teachers and prefects. Easy enough. Draco just needed a better sleep schedule.

Except when he was heading towards the Slytherin dormitories, he concluded that his regular sleeping pattern wouldn't start tonight. If he even managed to sleep, he'd just end up having nightmares about her.

No, he needed to distract himself with something. To occupy his mind. Which was why he was in the library. At first, it was going well. Browsing some titles that looked interesting, and picking out _Quidditch Techniques_. It was when he was eyeing the 'Death Roll' method (where a beater would roll a full circle around the broom to hit the bludger below their broom, catching any nearby opponents off-guard) that he heard the first sigh.

Apparently he was now reimagining those nausea-inducing noises. Trying to refocus on the words, Draco felt his heartbeat quicken as phantom Granger seemed to get louder and more frequent. Merlin, he was a nutter. Clenching his jaw, he was just about ready to drop the book and sprint out into the halls. Another sigh, very loud now, came from his right. Slowly, he turned to the noise. A second later, he was startled, when she emerged from the other aisle.

"Oh!" Frazzled hair fell about her face, where her cheeks were for whatever reason more flushed than usual. One of her hands was splayed across the bookshelf on their left. The other was fiddling at the hem of her skirt… was that candle wax? He narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish the substance on her finger, until he realized he was staring at her skirt, and her legs; which he then realized Theo wasn't wrong, she was well built for someone who didn't play–

Draco threw _Quidditch Techniques_ at her, emitting a little squeak of surprise as she ducked. The book smacked the wall behind her, hurtling to the wooden ground with a resounding _thud_.

"Stay away from me, Mudblood!" he spat. "And you can tell Potter to do the same."

There was a pause, her hair cascading like jagged thorns over her face.

"Actually, Malfoy," she murmured, rising slowly up from her squat. He studiously kept his eyes on her face as the mass of unorthodox curls fell back. She was wearing a curious expression that unsettled him. "I'm here to inform you that I know exactly what you're doing." Stomach flipping, he had a feeling that she truly did. Though he kept his expression cool, sneering.

"Reading? Hardly a crime. You stinking up the library is the crime." All the while he was figuring out what to do. It wouldn't be easy to murder in Hogwarts, but he had to get rid of her someway, for the sake of his secrecy and, to be honest, his sanity.

"Quiet down!" A sharp voice called from the other end of the aisle. Draco didn't even bother to acknowledge it, watching as she looked over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," she said. As the librarian shuffled away with a grunt, Granger returned to scrutinizing him. "It wouldn't be wise to say it in public."

"Don't say it at all. You're wrong." Taking a threatening step towards her, he hoped that would somewhat deter her. Then he could later get Snape to wipe her memory or something.

Squaring her shoulders, she also took a step forward. She was a head shorter than him, so he had to look down at her face, dusted with those freckles. Faint rose perfume and body heat emitted from her. His palms were sweating. Then, she smirked; he found that his stare was glued to her lips. It took him longer than it should have to process her whisper, her breath tickling his school shirt.

"You're pretending. You wouldn't be standing this close to me if you believed what you say about Mudbloods."


	5. Revitalization

_T__hanks for the reviews :D  
I enjoy playing around with the characters, particularly Snape, and I'm glad y'all feel they're similar to their canon counterparts. Draco struggling with what he feels about Hermione, good and bad, is really fun to write about.  
Now let's get back to these two...  
_

* * *

If she was being honest, she'd only wanted to aggravate him (which she was certainly successful in). Especially since he'd thrown a bloody book at her. But she hadn't exactly expected to be _right_.

Malfoy's sneer had fallen, his eyes had widened and he had stumbled backwards as if she had burned him. Clinging to the bookshelf beside him, his tongue darted over his lips. It was only a few seconds until a cold mask overcame his stony features… but it had been enough time to conclude that, yes, she was indeed right.

Without a word, Malfoy turned his back on her and stormed to the other end of the aisle, as if to prove that he didn't want to be anywhere near her. Keep him out of trouble, Snape had instructed. Was she supposed to chaperone him twenty-four seven? Watching him disappear from sight, Hermione grumbled a little before following him at a brisk pace.

When she left the library, she just caught sight of a pale flash from the left corridor in her peripheral vision. Now she moved at a trot. Rapid slapping of stone ahead informed her that Malfoy was full on sprinting. The bouncing flickering of candlelight matched her increasing heartbeat as she ran faster and faster, following the sound of Malfoy pattering through the meandering corridors of Hogwarts.

Skidding into a wall, she pushed herself off to turn to yet another length of stone imbedded with large, wooden, identical doors ﹘ one in the middle slammed shut. Hermione raced towards it, grabbing the handle and yanking it open. A dark room greeted her.

"_Lumos_," she murmured, taking a step forward. The light cast upon desks, chairs… a classroom, for sure ﹘

A ball of yellow light hurtled towards her; Hermione dove downwards with a shriek, her wand clattering to the ground somewhere where the light was trapped. As her forehead painfully banged the corner of one of the desks, there was the sound of the door slamming again, much harder this time, to the point that it made her skull rattle.

"Do you know what should happen to dirty Mudbloods like you?" Malfoy snarled in the dark, at a point above her. "They should spill your filthy blood and burn you in the hovel you came from." For a little while, there was silence except for her shallow breathing, his ragged inhales and exhales. There was a gritting of the soles of shoes against the stone floor she was splayed against. The footsteps, the door creaking open, a sliver of flickering honey candlelight oozing in, made determination surge through her veins.

She lunged, looping her arms around what presumably was Malfoy's legs. The Slytherin yelped; she tugged before he could even think to aim his wand at her and he lost balance, toppling to the ground halfway on top of her. The weight of the heavier Malfoy slamming into her thigh made her grit her teeth… that was surely going to leave a bruise. Puffs of mint flavoured air made her eyes flutter in the reclaimed gloom.

Hermione decided that now would be a perfect time to put more practice to nonverbal spells. As Malfoy shoved himself off of her, scrabbling around presumably for his wand, Hermione closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.

_Accio wand_.

Nothing. That was fine. Currently she was only successfull in levitating her quill when sitting a few meters away, facing it; she knew the location of it, and the distance, so it had been easier. Now, it was also more difficult without her wand. Unclenching and clenching her fists, she regulated the rhythm of her heartbeat with her breathing.

_Accio wand. _

There was a scraping of wood against stone (her spirits rose). A triumphant growl from Malfoy caused her heart to drop﹘panic made Hermione act on instinct. Pulse raising irregularly, she quickly sat up and scuttered away from where she judged the Slytherin to be.

_Accio wand! _

There was a _woosh_ and it was in her hand a second after a purple hex came hurtling where she'd been lying moments before. Hermione pointed her wand in the general direction the hex had come from. With a flicking noise, Malfoy's wand ignited by the Lumos spell; his face was illuminated, right in the line of her pointed wand. Her accuracy increased her confidence.

_Expelliarmus! _

Just barely reflecting her attack with an unuttered shield charm, Malfoy's expression contorted angrily. Despite everything, she felt annoyed that he had already seemed to perfect nonverbal spells. She supposed working for You-Know-Who meant that he had to be somewhat advanced in magic. _Let's think, let's think..._ she was able to cast nonverbal spells, but only on impulse. Not overthinking, perhaps?

An orange curse came flying her way, not before she impulsively flicked up _protego_. Not a second later, she hurled a jelly-legs jinx at him. Smugly, she noticed how he had to leap out of the way rather than cast a shield charm; she'd been too quick for him. Before he could aim again, Hermione threw another few curses ﹘_locomotor mortis, petrificus totalus, stupefy ﹘ _relishing in her new fluency in nonverbal casting. Watching Malfoy dance past her attacking spells and collide into a desk in the process was a reward in itself.

He let out a strangled cry, like some wild animal that had been shot. In the split second that she smirked, glancing down at his hand tending to his knee, she took her eye off his wand, which his other hand clutched. The hex raced towards her; she narrowly avoided it by bending her back as if she was doing the limbo. It brushed the tip of her nose, which became severely itchy. Annoyed at herself, Hermione threw a bat bogey hex while scratching her nose.

It was at this point that she contemplated how much of a hypocrite she was. Earlier today, she had followed Harry in his Malfoy stalking, hadn't told Harry about the whole You-Know-Who plot she'd overheard in the Room of Requirement, to _stop_ him from doing something stupid, like, well, fighting Malfoy. Now she was flinging curses at the snarling Slytherin left right and centre.

Bloody Snape. As she cast a shield at a nasty looking hex, she wondered what would have happened if she just walked out of the Great Hall and straight towards Gryffindor Tower, relaxing in her dormitory with a good book. Surely the professor couldn't just _make_ her help Malfoy. She would walk away now, except she would be leaving her pride behind, too.

Suddenly, Malfoy shot a suspiciously badly aimed curse, several centimetres away from her right shoulder. Not wanting to take her eyes off him, she was about ready to throw another curse. She didn't get the chance.

.o.o.

The Confringo blasted the wall behind her; as Draco suspected, the Hogwarts walls wouldn't be affected by the curse, especially by a less effective nonverbal spell. But it did rebound, as he'd hoped, and he watched her lose balance, falling face-forward. Her palms broke her fall with a ringing slap. Panting heavily, Draco limped towards her crumpled form, becoming more detailed as his Lumos cast wand got closer. Her irregular breaths come out in sharp, rapid puffs.

Is this how his father felt? Standing over a trembling creature ﹘ the power buzzing in his fingertips ﹘ ready to put it out of its misery. Well. Draco licked his lips, considering her. _Avada Kedavra_. That's all it would take. It couldn't be that easy, not in Hogwarts. But he was supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore; surely if he could achieve that, then he could end this Mudblood like blowing out a candle. He pointed his wand at her.

Draco wished she had known he was a Death Eater. That he was working for the Dark Lord… but no, her intellect was spent on analysing _him_. What he'd been struggling with all day, trying to push away from his mind, she dragged out into the open, exposed it in that forsaken library.

She had a point. If he was so disgusted by her presence, then he should've thrown the book with his message to her and Saint Potter, and left her alone to stew in the library. But he had stayed. Stayed, and got closer.

To the Dark Lord, to his Aunt Bellatrix, to his father, this was a sign of weakness. The Mudblood should be inferior to him, to his kind. If he were to kill her, right here, right now, then he would be proving to himself that, no, he wasn't weak.

_Kill her_. Draco gripped his wand more firmly.

With a slight moan, Granger raised her head gradually. Draco braced himself for the flash of green light. Then she faced him fully, glaring upwards at him.

His wand hand slackened.

Draco wasn't entirely sure when he'd left the classroom. Brushing past students filling the hallways (because clearly, enough time had passed that many had finished dinner), he half staggered towards the only place he knew she couldn't follow him into. Many people gave him strange looks, but he barely took any notice. A few people called out his name, whether they were Slytherin or not he didn't look up to find out. Or was it her?

"Just leave me alone!" he howled. The hallway he was in went silent, which helped his head clear, so he was satisfied. More determinedly, Draco sped up his pace ﹘ he had to shove a few midgets that were clogging up the top of the staircase. As he descended he contemplated how the point of a staircase was to go up and down, not to just stand there like they'd been petrified by a Basilisk.

"Malfoy!"

Draco almost tumbled down the last few steps. Shouldering his way through more unwanted attention, he went as fast as his knee would allow towards the Slytherin dormitories. As he reached the familiar gloom and caught sight of the door, he cried out in relief. He stumbled towards it, a seventh-year girl in front of him turning around with raised eyebrows. Then she looked over his shoulder; Draco made his way past her, before she started talking.

"Ew, look at Potter's Mudblood. Don't come near me!"

Draco froze.

"I'm here for Malfoy," Granger replied coolly. The girl snorted.

"Want to taint a Malfoy? No shame from you lot, is there?"

"What part of 'leave me alone' do you not understand?" he snapped, ignoring his housemate's remark.

"You dropped your wand." Furrowing his brows, he observed his empty palms. "Then you just left." Slowly, he turned around. The seventh year was eyeing him oddly. It took a lot of self-convincing to finally look at Granger. A few first-years trotted past her, past the seventh-year, past Draco, not paying them any mind, probably excited to play exploding snap in the dormitories or something as irritatingly oblivious.

Granger had her arm extended, his wand in her hand. Staring at it, he nearly laughed. He then encouraged himself to regard her face once more. There was no indication of what she was feeling; her expression was stoic and calm… he'd come to learn she did that around people like him, unless she had some nasty surprise for them. That wasn't the only thing he'd learned about her.

In that classroom, under his Lumos, her face had been parchment and the blood from her forehead stained it like red ink, a stark contrast that made the _Avada Kedavra _die in his throat.

Now, on her forehead was where it was darkest, as dark as the wine that Aunt Bellatrix always had in hand. It streamed down her face, crossing over her brows and arching around her cheekbones, curving like a phoenix's wings over those freckles.

Her blood looked no different to his.

Eventually, he took a step forward ﹘ eyeing her cautiously. Then another. Then, another. The tip of his wand brushed his shirt. Scrutinizing her unreadable face for as long as he dared, Draco returned his focus back to her fist clenching his wand. His own hand wrapped around it, brushing against her skin. A moment later she let go of his wand. As he looked back up, her face remained expressionless.

"You should probably go to the Hospital Wing," he found himself saying. There was a slight raise to her eyebrow; he watched it keenly.

"I'll bear that in mind." Then Granger walked off, leaving him alone (except for the still staring seventh-year) in the corridor of the Slytherin dungeons.

"You should, too," the girl said. Draco looked at her questioningly. "That Mudblood undoubtedly gave you something. It'll infect everyone."

With a sneer, he turned on his heel towards the dormitories, concealing his limp as best he could. This random seventh-year whose name he couldn't be bothered to learn would end up exhausting him further, so he had no business with her. Perhaps after all the energy he'd used today he could finally have a good night's sleep.


	6. Indecipherable

_I'd like to point out the issue about Draco's violent nature, which emerged significantly last chapter. As the son and nephew of serial killers, who are workers of a mass murderer, he won't have the best sense of how to deal with violent impulses; not to mention the fact that he's also a confused, conflicted teenager who has a lot of pressure being put on him by the mass murderer his father and aunt works for. Even though Draco will show remorse for his actions throughout the story, I'd like you all to be aware that his behaviour will continue to be volatile when faced with something he doesn't understand, or is conflicted by. _

* * *

Tuesday went by, and Malfoy didn't show up to the only class she had with him that day: potions. Apart from Professor Slughorn, everyone noticed. Before yesterday's fiasco, the slytherin's bad attendance had been of little significance to anyone that wasn't called Harry Potter. Now the whole school was speculating. Rumours being fired here and there, some uncomfortably close to the truth and others… well. They would make for some great storybooks, Hermione was sure. With the comedy genre. Yes.

Failing to suppress a snicker, she prompted Harry to look up from that dreadful half-blood-prince bloke's potions book.

"What's funny, 'Mione?"

"Oh, it's nothing!" She waved her hand dismissively.

"You alright?"

She frowned.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"That book's been in your lap for the past half hour and you haven't even opened it."

If Harry wasn't as half perceptive as he was, perhaps he wouldn't get into so much bloody trouble. _Honestly_.

"I was going to read it, but I suppose I just drifted off."

"Right."

"Right," she affirmed. For the first time, she found herself wishing he would preoccupy himself with that stupid potions book again. So of course this would be the one time that he shut it with a _snap_, then shoved it aside. There was an ominous glint in those mossy eyes.

"Did something happen between you and Ron?" Not what she was expecting, but anything unrelated to Malfoy suited her. Or at least as far as Harry knew.

"It's stupid, really. We had a fight yesterday, after we followed Snape."

"Right."

"_Yes_, Harry. Right."

"So you followed Snape and he just went back to class."

"That's what we said."

"Why'd it take him so long?"

"What?"

"Neville said he showed up nearly at the end of the lesson."

"He ran into Dumbledore, they exchanged some words, end of story."

"Why didn't you say that before?" Right. Enough was enough. Hermione shot up from the sofa, gripping her Transfiguration textbook. Madam Pomfrey had healed the cut on her head as if it was never there; however, she warned Hermione would still experience some symptoms, and like the patron predicted, she was fighting back a headache. Certainly, Harry wasn't improving matters. As she glowered down at him, he returned a steady, unblinking stare.

"How 'bout you pester Ron﹘"

"Already have. He keeps changing the subject."

"Maybe he's tired of you talking about Snape and Malfoy all the bloody time." Harry also stood up, only a few inches taller than her, but now being the one to look down.

"You both saw that door. Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement﹘"

"Yeah, so what? Maybe he just wanted some privacy? Wanted to be alone? Wanted to take a piss in peace?" Despite the anger that she could sense was simmering on his surface, Harry snorted. She watched as he tried to hide it as a cough; it was enough encouragement for Hermione to take a more gentle approach.

"I get it. Malfoy's acting weird…" she gestured around her, "I mean, the whole bloody school's talking about it. But if Dumbledore figured there was a problem, don't you think he would do something about it?" This had him looking slightly sheepish, and as he contemplated her words, so did she.

It was ironic, really. Because Dumbledore, apparently, wasn't doing anything about the fact they had two Death Eaters prancing around Hogwarts. Her and Ron were the only ones cursed with this knowledge because they decided to be nosey; but she would take this secret to the grave if it meant Harry would be safe, and she knew that the same applied to Ron.

"Guess not," Harry mumbled, shrugging. Though there was a look on his face that informed her he wasn't entirely convinced, she knew that he would leave his suspicions be for the time being.

"Harry. Hermione." She shrieked when the voice of Fred appeared right behind her ear. As she turned to smack him, he dodged with a grin.

"Where's George?" Harry asked.

"Nice to see you two to."

"Right, I'm off to bed." Hermione rolled her eyes, turning to approach the staircase to the dormitories.

"Oh, but Hermione, you haven't heard of our latest plan!"

Looking over her shoulder, she stated: "Your mum really shouldn't have forced you or George to come back to school. Hogwarts was so close to peace." Fred laughed, pointing at her.

"Right you are, Hermione." As she scoffed with a smile, she glanced at Harry, who was now eyeing the prince bloke's book again. Well, it wasn't Snape and it wasn't Malfoy, so she supposed that would do for now.

..

The next morning, she walked into Arithmancy, wondering if Snape expected her to uphold her promise of babysitting Malfoy when he wouldn't even show up to class, or meals, for that matter. She had more important priorities: Harry, Ron, schoolwork, being just the top of that list. If the rude Slytherin wanted to ruin his life, who was she to stop him?

Ten minutes of class time went by, where she was working on a particularly intricate problem; a large book she'd retrieved from the library earlier this week was propped next to the assigned Arithmancy textbook she'd bought for this year. She switched between the two — the textbook was better for methodology whereas the library book helped explain the concepts to her more. Had she not been interrupted by a loud _thud_ on the desk next to her, she would've been well on her way to solving the problem.

The devil himself was here.

Giving Malfoy her most unimpressed stare, she returned to scrutinizing her parchment and books. As she dwelled further on the problem, she found her mind wandering slightly. Perhaps she'd been so occupied with her work that she hadn't noticed him enter the classroom (her surroundings usually faded when she worked); if Professor Vector had said anything about the slytherin's tardiness, she also hadn't taken that in. As to why he was sitting next to her, well, that must've been something she hadn't heard, either.

When she found herself stuck, she zoned back into her class. A few blissful minutes passed when only the scratching of quills and the rustling of pages occupied the classroom. Until someone at the front started coughing haphazardly; Hermione looked up irritably to see Blaise Zabini, turned around and facing her table with a raised eyebrow, his stare directed at Malfoy, she realised. Furrowing her own brows, Hermione side-glanced the pale boy beside her.

Giving no indication he had heard Zabini, Malfoy's long pale hand gripped a quill, writing in cursive across his parchment on a problem assigned to the class a month ago… it was strange, just a couple days ago he'd left her bleeding on the ground and now he was quietly sitting next to her doing Arithmancy. Perhaps her ploy to gain his trust by returning his wand had actually worked. A bit too well, all things considered.

.o.o.

He was sorting himself out, apparently.

All of Tuesday he'd spent trying to make up for lost time in the Room of Requirement. He'd assigned Crabbe and Goyle to stand outside the room, taking polyjuice potions to make themselves look like two oblivious first-year girls. This was to warn him if anyone unwanted (and there were a lot of those) was approaching the room. Being the centre of the school's attention had been something he'd ached for since he saw the wide-eyed stares that followed Saint Potter since day one. Except, he had wished for fame and glory; not speculation about him being the next to be whisked off to Azkaban, or St Mungo's for crazy people.

With little progress, some shattered shelves from angry reducto curses and Snape stalking him like a shadow, Draco knew he was doing more harm than good by avoiding the school's eye. If he showed up to classes like normal, to meals like normal, to quidditch like normal, then the whole buzz around him would eventually dissolve into something different that these feeble-minded nitwits could gossip about. It would shut Snape up, too.

Strutting into Arithmancy with his head held high, he ignored the ensuing mutters of his classmates. Any non-Slytherin who were intelligent enough to take this subject (which, unsurprisingly, didn't include Potter or Weaselbee) were also smart enough not to openly ogle him. Instead, they would whisper whatever rumour they'd heard to whoever was sharing their desk. His own housemates were for the most part giving him curious looks, but other than that returned to their work. From the corner of his eye, he could see Blaise watching him expectantly… but something else had his attention.

With all her curls tumbling in a cascade of morning frenzy down her hunched back, Granger's freckled nose was practically brushing against her parchment. Not once had she looked up, or even acknowledged the noise of the classroom.

"Mr Malfoy. Nice for you to show up to this class," Vector said, prompting him to glance briefly at the professor. With a sneer, Draco stared back at Granger and found himself somewhat annoyed that she still hadn't looked up. Was she deliberately avoiding eye contact with him?

The last time he'd seen her, blood streamed down her face like a dragon's breath. In the hollowness of the Room of Requirement, he'd wondered why she'd chosen to return his wand to him… he'd concluded it had something to do with Gryffindors and their irritating need to be noble. It still meant that he'd spent his entire day off thinking about her, so the least she could do was acknowledge his existence.

Merlin, he had problems he suspected not even St Mungo's could comprehend.

Draco strode forwards, kicking a few chairs along the way. Still, Granger wouldn't look up. She really didn't want to look at him, huh? Walking right past a bewildered Blaise, he marched towards her desk. She usually had one to herself when she could, because of all those books she hauled around school. _Tap, tap, tap_, went his obnoxious footsteps.

"Could you be any louder, Malfoy?" called out Zacharias Smith, the loud-mouthed Hufflepuff of their year who was fantastic at causing scenes. Yet, Granger still scribbled furiously on her parchment, eyes never leaving the parchment or pages. Full on frowning now, Draco continued approaching her desk; Smith scoffed, which was pathetic by Malfoy standards.

He swung his bag onto her desk, and when it slammed against it, he felt a surge of satisfaction as her hand paused. Lip pursing as if she'd sucked a lemon, Granger turned to his direction. With a slight raise of her eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and looked back down at her work. That was good enough for him.

Draco dragged the chair beside her, sitting on it and taking his stationary out of his bag.

"Have you done any work at all this year, Mr Malfoy?" Vector questioned him from across the room. Not even looking up (because he was sure that Blaise was staring at him right now), Draco decided there was a way to test if she was ignoring him or just genuinely absorbed in her work.

"No, but Granger's going to help me so it's fine." The rather small class made, if possible, more noise than when he had first walked in. Peering at Granger, he was amazed that she was still focused on the equations across the pages of the book. Padma Patil was the most vocal, pointing out what everyone in the room was thinking.

"Didn't you cause all of Gryffindor to lose their points _because_ you didn't want to be near her?"

"I didn't lose Gryffindor their points, Potter did," he responded lazily, pulling a crumpled assignment he'd never placed ink on out of his bag.

"What were you doing in that room?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Smith," he told the Hufflepuff, now casting a charm to smooth his parchment. From the corner of his eye he could see Granger scribbling away.

"Quite odd if you ask me," Padma added.

"You're worse than your sister, and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Draco sneered.

"Don't bring my sister into this, Malfoy."

"I believe that I told this class to work in silence?" They all lapsed into it, thank Merlin. "Mr Malfoy, if you hadn't been late, you would've known." Acknowledging the professor's words with a stiff nod, he started working on his parchment. Somewhat miffed that she hadn't even paused from her work, he eyed his work.

Granger was an Arithmancy problem. Complicated, hard to read, definitely having something to reveal. That had to be the reason why he was so intent on drawing her attention… it was actually unnerving, in comparison to her usual scrutinization. In fact, she wasn't the only one to behave differently, lately. Potter had walked past him in the hallway this morning without sparing him a glance. Draco knew he should be relieved; in light of all the talk centering him, less attention was good. Except, why would it be at this time specifically — surely they would be most suspicious of him now more than ever?

He was convinced the Golden Trio of Gryffindor knew something about him. They were biding their time to get him caught, at just the right moment. The problem on the parchment he eyed from down his nose was much less enticing than the one hunched over the desk next to him, scribbling like her life depended on it.

Madam Pomfrey had done a good job on her; it was as if their scuffle had never happened. Not entirely sure when he had started studying her forehead, Draco's eyes started travelling down her face. Her eyelashes were dancing to the rhythm of her eyes and the tune of her quill. They captured some weak sunlight that was leaking from the windows, casting a coppery glow. Each time she blinked, the copper strands would tap her cheekbones, which he daresay were quite magnificent for a Mudblood.

She knew something about him. That was the only reason he was sitting here right now: to investigate. So why wasn't he saying anything?

Well, it would be difficult to extract information in the silent room where everyone was discreetly paying attention to his every move. Right on cue, Blaise cleared his throat; he ignored him. Now Potter had seemingly dropped the auror act, Blaise might take his place, if Draco gave him enough reason.

As if sitting next to Mudblood Granger wasn't enough reason.

Merlin, if he couldn't question her, which he full well knew from the very start, then why was he sitting here? The point of coming back to class was to _remove_ unwanted attention; yet he didn't make a single attempt to move. He contemplated his parchment as he preoccupied his hand by writing in lazy cursive, the problem taunting him as he racked his brains for any logical stream of thought that may still exist.

He was half tempted to burn the parchment here and now. Then it wouldn't be taunting him like it was. But that's exactly what he tried to do with Granger; he'd wanted to kill her when they duelled, so he could stop thinking about her. So she could stop being a problem.

If he had been his father's son, he would've killed her without a moment's hesitation.

_That_ was Draco's problem. Not her. He was his problem. The thought of killing another creature that looked, behaved, walked around like him, completely sickened him. The mark burned into his skin was a lie. No way would he be able to slaughter a family of wailing muggles at the Dark Lord's behest. Even less, to murder a classmate from school, whether it be friend or foe. Least of all, the powerful and imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore… a man, who despite his favouritism toward Gryffindors, had never asked his students to do something out of their comfort. He'd never tried to force harmony between Purebloods and Mudbloods, he'd never tried to create friendships that didn't belong and he'd never told anyone to change their beliefs.

He was fair.

Voldemort was not.

No, Draco hadn't murdered the girl next to him. Instead he'd hurt her. Made her bleed her strangely crimson blood on the ground. Walked off. Not quite as ruthless as his father but certainly as cold-hearted.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Granger's voice startled him out of his thoughts. Plastering a neutrally cool expression, Draco turned to observe her. Then, his heart leapt to his throat — he snatched his hand away, as if the sleeve of her jumper had scorched it. Whether the people around him had witnessed this transaction (which, knowing the nosey half-wits, they certainly had) Draco found that his attention had snapped completely towards Granger's puzzled expression. He wasn't sure what to say because even he wasn't entirely sure why he'd grabbed her arm.

His mouth apparently did.

"I'm sorry." The words came out on their own accord. Granger's eyebrow raised, her lips quirked a little. He watched them with utmost curiosity.

"Um, it's alright." The room was deadly silent, which confirmed that the class was listening.

"No, I mean I'm sorry."

"That the first time you touched a girl, Malfoy?" Smith hooted from across the classroom. Draco ignored him and the varying, approving chuckles that followed, and found himself oddly pleased when Granger did the same. Her eyebrows were furrowed, now. Those eyelashes were dancing again as her eyes darted across his face, reading him like the open book his Aunt Bellatrix shrieked he was whenever throwing a Cruciatus Curse his way. Then, something dawned on her face... she understood. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she shrugged, but said nothing.

"If I had been you I would have broken your wand," he murmured.

"If you had been me, you'd have done no such thing as a Gryffindor," she responded, just as quietly.

"Merlin have mercy." She did this funny little cough, and he highly suspected it had been a premature laugh she was almost unsuccessful, but ultimately failed, to hide. Draco couldn't help but feel somewhat smug. Those plush lips were twitching back a smirk he was dying to witness.

It was at this point he decided that he had well and truly lost his sanity.


End file.
